Bury Me Well
by The Guitar Slayer
Summary: A Prequel to You're Lost, Little Girl. The aforementioned little girl deals with a death in the family.
1. Sitting and Waiting

The house had changed since she had gone to the gallery that morning. Marlene was certain of that. She knew the feeling of her house, of her father, and any of their visitors. The vice that seemed to grip this place had apparently visited while she was gone…and it was still here.

Marlene stood in the doorway, still frozen from the sudden onslaught of the new atmosphere. Her hand was still clutching her keys, which were still in the lock of the front door. Her chest tightened. This wasn't going to be a good day. It had been, really, up to that point. Her paintings were continuing to sell, and she'd closed a deal on licensing – now her paintings and their replicas could hang in every home on the planet if she was lucky….

However, judging by the feeling that made this home foreign, it seemed that her luck was running out. Oh well. It had had a good run – a 13-year run, in fact. She'd been at the top of her classes in high school, art school, and culinary school. Three months ago, as spring had peaked, she'd scored a place in the local gallery...and then it all exploded into a career. To top it all off, she could now have her cake and eat it too; with her art selling, she could play with all of her high-profile crockery if she so desired.

It had been a good run.

Now it was time to go in and see what was going to derail it all.

Marlene withdrew her key from the door and stepped into the house. She closed the door behind her carefully, the only noise being the click of the lock sliding back into place. "Daddy, I'm home." She listened for a response. None. She hung up her keys on the wall and took off her sunhat; the summer was reaching its height, and her fair skin, even with sunscreen, wouldn't stand long. She rubbed a hand up and down her bare arm, fingers drifting down to adjust the hem of her sundress. It was too wide on the bottom, she felt, even when she wore biker shorts underneath. At least the top half fit ok. Barret had told her that her mother had been quite delicate and her father slim. Perhaps she was a bit conscious about it, since she been surrounded by men like Barret (who was no small man) and girls like Tifa (who was rather voluptuous) for most of her life. She came from different genetic stock than they did, and even more different than Yuffie, who arguably was as small-boned as she was, albeit far more muscular. Well, had been. Marlene hadn't seen much of Yuffie since she became empress…always swaddled in those ceremonial robes; she could not tell whether the woman had kept her figure, improved on it, or what.

Catching sight of herself in the mirror, Marlene sighed. No, she was never going to look as good as Tifa did at her age – she was simply destined to be a waif, a brunette Twiggy or something. Her face, while pretty, didn't have enough character in it to be called a gamine – then she could pretend to be Audrey Hepburn or someone interesting like that. Just plain Marlene. Plain Marlene with hat hair…ok, she could fix that.

As her fingers quickly weaved her mussed hair into a single braid down her back, she heard a floor board from upstairs creak. "Daddy?" she called up again. Maybe he had been sleeping – trying to wake him up was normally like trying to wake the dead

"Hey, baby. When you got a minute, come up to your art room."

Marlene quickly finished doing her hair and bounced up the stairs to her studio. Barret had pulled out all the stops when he heard his daughter had been accepted to art school. He threw every art related thing he could think of in there, from a pottery wheel to a bunch of plywood for free-standing art. He even had the walls painted in a custom formula so she could actually write or draw on the walls and then erase it as her heart wished. It was perfect.

Well, it had been. Now the feelings she had felt when she entered the house were magnified and centred in this room, emanating from….

Her daddy.

Barret Wallace had aged fairly well despite everything the man had been through. He was grey in the beard and in the temples, lines deep in his face…but they were laugh lines, and that was a good thing. It wasn't the actual sight of him that told Marlene something was wrong. It was how he sat on the museum bench – the bench he'd gotten specifically so he could watch the artist at work. Hands folded in front of him, flesh one over the robotic one. Back ramrod straight. His eyebrows drawn so close together that they could almost be considered one. And then his eyes…

Barret had a rep for being a tough man, a loud man, a fearless man. However, very few people were tall enough or brave enough to look him straight in the eyes. For Barret, that was where all of his true emotions were; nothing was obscured by bravado. Today, Marlene saw something she'd only seen once before, and that was when she was…

"Daddy, are we safe?" Barret raised his eyes toward his not-so-little girl. He felt shamed that she'd seen or felt his emotions and that he was worrying her even before he told her…

"Yeah, baby, we cool. No terrorists or any of that nasty sh-stuff." Barret, unlike Cid, had eventually trained himself out of cursing around his child. "But…yeah, something's up. Sit down, hon." He patted a space beside him on the bench.

Marlene obediently sat down, eyes wide. Already she could feel tears brimming up behind them, but she couldn't let them fall. No, she wouldn't be doing anyone proud then if she was bawling before he even told her what was going on. Even though he would understand that she felt the vibes, she still didn't want to disappoint him that way. Her jaw trembled, and she grit her teeth to stop the nervous reaction.

Barret turned himself to look at her. As tall and as pretty as she was, he still remembered the days of shortness and pigtails. This was, to quote Cid upon the birth of his son, "gonna be harder than getting a St. Bernard through a cat door." He flexed his metal hand once, and then he started. "You know I went to the doctor today to see about them headaches?'

Marlene nodded.

"They ran me through all the machines – the spiny ones, the picture taking ones, the ones where they hook you up like one of them cyborg things. Don't know the names of any of them, but they gave me all those tests."

Marlene started grinding her teeth as she tried to not let her mouth pucker in, the first sign of an oncoming cry-fest. "They found something?"

Barret closed his eyes. "You were always a smart girl, Marlene. Yeah, they did." He bowed his head slightly forward and tapped the direct centre of his skull. "Right down in there. Big ol' aneurysm chillin' out. You know what that is?"

Marlene's eyes were burning, and she finally had to look down at her hands rather than her father's head. "It's, it's like when a hose dries out and the three layers in there split apart…the water goes into all three and makes it swell til…"

"Yeah." Barret sat up straight again and looked across at the wall. He swallowed as he felt his nose twitch. _"Shit, I can't start blubberin' like this in front of Marlene." _Wordlessly, he took her right hand in his left and continued to stare at the painting. "Earth's Rage," she'd called it. He'd taken her up to the top of old Mount Corel and she'd just snapped away on her camera, then done the painting based out of the series. It was one of his favourites. "The mofo is hiding in the middle, so the doctor's can't get at it."

Despite her efforts, Marlene felt the tears run down her face. "So one day…"

"Yeah." Barret gave up any pretences of being tough man at this point. Here he was, telling his baby girl he was going to kick the bucket at any time, and there he was, trying to be all manly and bullshit. He let himself sniff loudly as his own eyes started to leak.

"How long did they say?"

"Year at most. Prolly within the next six months or so. But it'll be real fast."

"Just boom, splat?"

"Yeah. 'xactly. Like that time we couldn't find a knife for the watermelon, and so I just put a cap in that thing's ass."

Marlene burst out laughing and crying at the same time. "A-a-and then, instead of spitting out seeds, we had to watch for shell casings." Barret grinned with all of his teeth (a scary thing if he was smiling at your from behind his gun)…and then immediately went sombre as his little girl continued to sob.

Barret wrapped his arms around her. "C'mon, baby, don't cry." Marlene sniffled loudly, trying her best. "You're a strong little lady, and cryin' won't do anything….Yeah, good girl." Despite this, Barret's own face was still wet with salt water. "I'm sorry, honey. I really am."

"I-i-it just happened…don't need to be sorry." Marlene slid her arms around Barret's neck and leaned her head on his shoulder.

"You got our friends to look at after you – Tifa an' ol' Chocobo Head an' Shera an' Cid – maybe not him, but you know." He heard a muffled sob or chuckle, he wasn't sure which. Frankly, he wasn't sure what he should be doing emotionally either. This was his mortality he was talkin' about, and there he was, calling Cloud Chocobo Head for the last(?) time.

Shit. Last times. When was the last time he was gonna hold Marlene? He hadn't been thinking about that since that whole Deep Soldier crap Valentine was dealing with had blown over. And then he'd held her like there was no tomorrow. And then there were first times….

He wasn't gonna have anymore of those. Minus dyin'. Not gonna see Marlene move out or get married (for the first and last time, he hoped), or see his own grandkids. Nope. Not unless she went out and did something like a fool, and Marlene was no fool. No. She was going to be absolutely, positively, unreliably A-OK. She had been so far. He'd done good with all the insanity that was in the world.

…But….Goddamn, he'd missed on so much with her. Always leavin' her with the gang while he went out and saved the world with new fuel and stuff. He was helpin' the planet to keep runnin', but what about her…?

She'd be fine. She had been fine then, so why not now?

Barret flexed his robotic hand slightly behind her. He'd changed up his gun arm for that doo-dad after the world almost ended. The gun had been all funky after that battle in the Northern Crater, and he'd been scared shitless that he was gonna hug Marlene one day and blow her little head off. He got worried when he went into surgery – was Marlene gonna be scared that he was dying? When he woke up, she was right there, unfazed and looking with wide eyes at his new hand. She was fine then.

Dyin' was a more permanent thing than having his pipes replaced. But she'd been dealing with worse since she'd been born. He'd gotten her momma and daddy killed and his arm blown off, but he was able to take of her. At least she was alive and she grew up pretty happy. She had Tifa and all them to keep her amused. Tifa was the best momma he could have gotten for her…little girls needed their mommas, and little boys needed their poppas. Well, boys needed their mommas, too, he'd learned over the years, but still, the basic idea worked. What would she have done, seein' what he'd seen out there with the roughnecks, trying to rebuild the planet? Marlene was a stout little filly, on the inside, if not on the outside, but she didn't need to see any of that…no, none of the grit and the cussing and the dying – she had enough of that. Almost three times now, the world had ended with her waiting for him to come home in one piece…

He always did. But now the fightin' was over, and old soldiers gotta go back home sometime. It was just his turn….Marlene would understand that.

"Baby, I've been on this planet for a long time and see so much…it's just my time to go on and mosey home…like Spike said."

Marlene pulled back from her father, lips still shut tight as she took her father's artificial hand in hers. She ran her fingers over it, still inwardly fascinated by its operation and almost life-like abilities; while he could not feel with it, it still enabled him to do things that hadn't been possible before – braiding her hair, flipping pancakes, typing (with his two index fingers) notes to her teachers, and trying to show her how to master the monkey bars…. That last endeavour was met with limited success, as he had shown why there was a weight limit on such childhood amusements.

She heard Barret continue, distantly. "I think it's better this way, now that I'm stayin' home more often. I wouldn't have wanted to go off and die without you knowin' – like that fool Cloud did to Tifa – can't believe she still married him anyway." Her hand was squeezed gently, but she didn't feel strong enough to respond. "But seriously, Marlene, if I gotta go, it's better this way than like what I was thinkin' before – blaze o' glory and all that garbage. Even if it was all for you, I rather see you…"

How could she respond to that?

"Marlene, you got me for a while more yet. You gonna talk, or am I gonna have to go call someone more talkative, like Vampy?"

Marlene allowed her lips to curve up in a slight smile. Oh, he had no idea how talkative Vincent could be when the spotlight wasn't on him. "Now that's my girl." Marlene met Barret's eyes and saw melancholic contentment.

Maybe someday she'd have that. For now, though, canned devastation was the way to go.


	2. Salvation's Wings Unfold

The months marched on, and Barret went on as he always did. Pancakes, hashbrowns, and waffles for Sunday brunch, mowing the lawn Wednesdays, dinner out on Fridays with Marlene. For awhile there, it seemed as if both he and his time bomb had forgotten the countdown entirely. Each morning, early on, Marlene would get up to travel to the art gallery and take care of the business. She'd creep into her father's room and tell him she was going, which was always the same. He'd mumble something along the lines of "Have a good day, baby, now go 'way and let me sleep." Usually this was accompanied by a pillow being clamped over his head or rolling over, away from the door. She'd then tiptoe down the stairs and go tend to business, arriving home in the early afternoon.

Life didn't change at all.

Marlene would come in and call out for him. Normally he didn't answer the first time – absorbed in some paperwork from the oil company or sleeping (again) or (much to his embarrassment) secretly playing Dance Dance Revolution ("It….it's good for my heart, Marlene – doctor said so. And Ima hurt your stuffed moogle if you tell any of them"). She'd reorganize herself, and then call again, normally eliciting a response, unless he was in the midst of an epic-level Barret nap. The man could have slept through the Northern Crater incident if they'd left him on the airship.

It was in cases such as this that Marlene would charge up the stairs and poke her sleeping father, triggering a tickle battle that escalated as she grew older, but today, one day that had gone like every other, she stopped to stand in the door way. Barret had clamped the pillow over his ear that morning, and there it still was….His face was absolutely relaxed and…

and…

and…

Marlene's bag slid off her shoulder, making a loud thud on the wood floor as nothing stirred. Her impeccably creased khaki slacks and her cute little shirt seemed to provide no protection against the chilling October that was starting to creep up through the floor boards. The oil heating system normally wasn't turned on til November or so, "cuz you never know when it's gonna go like mako or somethin' crazy. Gotta be careful this time."

and…

and…

She found herself breathing through her mouth heavily, staring at the bed. What wasn't there anymore…her heart was making a steady climb up her throat, and she couldn't leave a mess in here….

and…

and…

The inside of her head went cold, the heat emanating out of her ears, and her brain was left feeling like a sodden cotton ball, seeping with anaesthetic. All of her seemed too heavy for her willowy legs to bear.

and…

dead.

Some sense of balance…something of normalcy. Something of sanity. Something of comfort. Something something something something.

Her legs staggered into her room somehow…hands found the old tapes…he'd always been old-fashioned like that, preferring the warmth and the physical touch of tape to the coldness of CDs…trembling fingers dropped it into the player…closed it with a 'snap' and pressed play. With that last effort, her legs went to jelly and she fell to the floor hard. She'd have bruises in the morning, but –

"Hello, Marlene. I hope you're doing well."

The comforting voice that she'd heard through all of her childhood, as she was in school and dreaming of new places that she could never go, blared through the speakers. Marlene's unsteady hand grabbed the knob on the stereo and twisted it all the way to the right. Louder. Louder….so much that the bass was making the floor boards vibrate under her already shaking figure. She robotically reached up and clutched at her bedspread, pulling it down to the floor with her. Out tumbled her well-loved stuffed moogle, and she clutched him to her as if he was a life preserver on a rapidly sinking ship. As she listened to the voice on the speakers, she felt herself sliding onto her side, curling up into a foetal position.

"I've travelled all the way back up north to Icicle Inn. This is a dire contrast to the Bone Village – far more livelier, not mention more interesting…especially for children as yourself who enjoy the holiday of Christmas."

"Tell me about the snow…" Marlene's voice squeezed itself past the lump in her throat. She was talking to a tape player…to a tape that had been made over a decade ago.

"Unlike the snow you see in Midgar or Junon, it's absolutely pure until stepped upon – it won't go grey unless you've been walking through the mud. I gave you some statistics in the accompanying letter as to the differences as well as the causes. While you may not find it important right now, I'm sure it will come in handy at school…unless the curriculum has changed dramatically since I….well, yes, then it likely has. I admit, it has been many years since I was a schoolboy."

Marlene let out a rattle that would have been a giggle in any other context. Her eyes were gleaming with unshed tears, realizing on some level she was in shock. Him as a schoolboy…too funny. "What have you just come across?"

"This may be of interest to you, Marlene. I'm taking a picture of it right now…"

Marlene, ghostly pale, sat up and stared at her wall. Yes, there it was. The series of pictures. "This snowshoe rabbit is indigenous to the area – that means native – and so it's a fairly common sight up here. However, I do know you have an affection for such things so…"

First snapshot – the little rabbit at the side of his boots, absolutely placid.

Second snapshot – rabbit plants its front paws on his right golden boot. "Obviously, people feeding these creatures have caused them to become quasi-domesticated. This compromises their survivability…"

Third snapshot – rabbit stands on its hind legs to get a closer look at the camera and its owner. "It's too friendly for its own good." There was a sigh here, and she mindlessly smiled as she looked to the next and last photograph. "In your last correspondence, you had wanted to see a picture of myself, as it had been a number of years since you'd seen me. While I do remind you that I have not changed due to my…condition…, I will attempt to satisfy your courtesy. Consider this a two-for-one deal, as your father would say. And please don't let this fall into Cid's hands. You know how he is."

The last photograph – the rabbit was now being held up in one hand, ears perked, curiously sniffing the chin of the solemn gunman. Well, mostly solemn, despite a suspicion of a blush creeping across his face – he'd rationalized it in a later letter, stating that it was quite bitter out that day.

Vincent Valentine was on the receiving end of a kiss from the wee bunny in his right hand, the left carefully aiming the camera so as to get a good shot…so he wouldn't have to repose it and take the risk of someone seeing him carrying around a bunny.

"Oh, Vincent. Thank you so much for thinking of me…" Marlene lapsed into silence as Vincent continued on his lecture. The icy wonderland was painted with the man's deep voice, the tiniest details noted with scientific efficiency. She was absolutely enthralled. Eventually the tape ended.

Then she had to deal with the real world. "I'll write soon, Vincent…"

In a haze, she stood up and teetered precariously down to the phone in the kitchen, still clutching her bear and her blanket. Someday soon…she'd listen to the bunny story again. And the one with the dolphins…and the one with the Chocobo Sage telling stories…and another with a Wutaiian woman singing old bedtime songs.

For now…she had to tell her own story…about her and her daddy.


	3. Love Is Dead

First, however, she had brewed herself a cup of hot chocolate. She needed something to settle her nerves, and a straight up dose of caffeine that tea or coffee would provide would be too much for her system. She sank three marshmallows in there before taking a seat in front of her father's large date book that he kept in a holder on the kitchen counter. She flipped the pages carefully, making sure not a thing was out of place.

Normally, Barret had been the one to call his friends and would holler to Marlene, asking if she wished to talk to them. She rarely would dial out on her own, unless he'd asked her to. Even then, he would rattle off the number to her; there was never a need to paw through his big book.

She looked at the list. First thing's first…

"MOOOOOOMMMMMYYYYY!!!!"

Tifa's brunette head popped out from under the couch, eyes darting from side to side looking for the source of the shriek. "You better not be hitting your sister!"

"Which one?"

"Any of them!"

"Who are you talking to?"

"All of you!"

Everything went silent….and Tifa immediately knew something was up. She allowed herself an eye roll and a deep breath. She'd investigate in a moment. But…first thing's first… she made one last effort to slither under the couch with a flashlight in order to retrieve the TV remote control.

There it was! Right next to a ball and…. "Who's been eating candy in the living room?"

"Aeriiith."

"Have not!"

"Have too!"

"Have not!"

"Liar!"

"You're a bigger liar, Zangan!"

Ring ring….

Oh NO.

Ring ring…

"PHONE!!!!"

"My turn to get it!"

"Nuh uh!"

The stampede nearly ran over Tifa as she extricated herself from under the sofa and made a desperate dive for the telephone. "All of you! Back away from the phone!"

Tifa, the great martial artist, the heroine of the planet, the ferocious bar maid, towered over her foes, who froze at the very sight of her near the phone.

"All right, Mom….but next time?" asked the small blonde boy.

"We'll see. Shoo, now." Tifa waited for her children to skedaddle out of the room.

Ring --- "Hello, Strife residence."

"Hi, Tifa."

Tifa blinked, puzzled. Who --? "Oh, my God, Marlene! I didn't recognize you for a moment there – I'm not used to hearing your voice over the phone." Tifa carefully picked a piece of paper out of her hair and ran her fingers through the rest of her mane to check for anything else that may have gotten caught when she had been under the couch.

"I know. Tifa…" Marlene gripped her mug. "C-can you come see me?"

Despite herself, Tifa allowed a sigh to slip. "I'm sorry, Marlene. Life's been crazy lately. I have to ferry the kids from ballet to basketball to hockey and to flute lessons, and Cloud's delivery service has really picked up since we moved out here – there are so many elderly folks that need a helping hand…you understand why we can't—"

Marlene's brain abruptly switched gears as Tifa continued. But she needed them…weren't they supposed to come if she needed them? She heard herself saying, "Tifa, my daddy's dead."

She heard Tifa's gasp and her "I'm so sorry, Marlene. He called us before and said—" She heard her yelling for Cloud to come downstairs and offer her some reassurances as well. Most of it just went in and out of her head in the same moment. "Oh, Marlene, if we'd known how bad it was we would have come sooner, really."

Tifa started asking her about a funeral…oh, her father's. Barret had been considerate enough to plan his own rather than leave it to her – as capable as she was, he knew that immediately after his death, she'd be a little too upset to deal with thickheads at the funeral parlour. Marlene robotically read off the information Barret had also left in his black book, pinned next to the list of contact numbers of their friends….he'd already known that his death would likely be their next gathering.

Before Marlene realized it, the line was dead, and Tifa had given her a heartfelt goodbye, stating that she had to pack up the kids to get out to Corel in time for the funeral and that she'd call Reeve for her – he'd moved his clan to a cooler climate some time ago...

Next number on the list was Cid and Shera. Marlene briefly considered whether to call the house or the workshop…she decided on the workshop being as she'd never gotten to know Shera as well as the others. Shera was simply Mrs. Highwind to her. Baked cookies and gave her tea – that was the extent of her relationship with her. She'd never really needed another mommy after Tifa and Elmyra.

It took seven rings, but eventually the pilot picked up. "Highwind's Garage – this better be fucking good!"

Marlene allowed herself to smile a bit in relief; Cid hadn't been changed too much by parenthood, unlike Cloud and Tifa. Cloud had just sat himself down and put his mind at being a father. He passed his bike keys off to Cid for safe keeping, so he wouldn't roam. Tifa had kept her spirit, but her edge had been dulled over time…both a good and a bad thing. While she was no long as childishly overjoyed at certain things, she also was no longer afflicted by the darkness and anger that broiled up inside of her. No more tight-lipped nights between her and Cloud either, and if their parents ever fought, the Strife children would be completely unawares.

On the other hand, while Shera had toughened up, the roles and character (she supposed) had stayed the same. "Hello, Cid…"

"MARLENE! Fuckin' A – ah damn, shouldn't curse in front of you….ah hell you're twenty something now or whatever – old enough. Anyway, how the hell are you?" Before she could answer, he ploughed onward. "Me and Shera and the kid are doing good. Little guy has his hands into everything, just like his old man did…well, not girls yet, but you don't wanna hear about that shit. Anyway, I've been thinking about hauling the two of them up to you and your dad sometime soon – one last blast you know, but I know how the old man is about planning stuff in advance, but hey, what's he got to worry about in the long run, huh…."

Cid continued to ramble, and Marlene was dizzied by his rapid-fire delivery and the fact that he was making plans with her father while he was upstairs and…. "Anywho, we've been thinking about it for awhile but puttin' it off since it was awkward as fuck to say, 'Hi, we're coming up to say goodbye to your dad, hope you don't mind' but shit, hearing you and all makes me want to see ya, munchkin…."

"Cid, Daddy's dead."

The other end of the line went silent. "He….Fuck!" She heard Cid's other fist slam into a table or some other solid object. "Fuck….I'm sorry, Marlene, shoulda gotten my ass in gear faster. We'll be right up there right now. Leave the door unlocked. SHERA!!!" she heard Cid bellow as he hung up.

…..

They were coming. Thank God. Late. But thank God.

Two more names on the list. Just two.

Two more names on the list. Just two. She… wanted to leave the second one for last. So there it was, the logical next choice: Yuffie. The Empress. Whatever she was called these days. Marlene's hand hesitantly dialled the number. She wasn't sure what sort of reception she'd get. Yuffie had always resented being classified as a "kid" with Marlene…though she certainly was not an adult at the time.

"Who is this?" was the gruff male response on the second ring.

Marlene was startled, but then remembered that Yuffie had body guards. "Th-this is Marlene. Barret Walace's daught…I need to speak to Yu—Empress Godo." Suddenly, her voice sounded very insecure indeed. Marlene thought, perhaps, she had been spoiled by her father's fame – nobody _ever _had to ask who was who or what was what around her.

She heard the man repeat her request to Yuffie, who apparently was in the same room. Distantly she heard, "Oh, gawd, what does the kid want now? I don't have time to play with dolls." Despite the distance, Marlene's cheeks went up in flames. What had she ever done to _her!?_ Other than exist?

"What is the nature of your business?" came the cold tone across the wire.

Her…_ business??_ "It's in regard to my father…." she replied shakily. She didn't want to hear what Yuffie said; she wasn't in a good mood, and when Yuffie wasn't in a good mood, things came out that really shouldn't and they hurt and --

Abruptly, she was cut off as he relayed this information to the Empress. "Phooey. I don't _care_. I have an empire to run, not worry about when, possibly, some guy is gonna drop off." Marlene felt that feeling of being sick all over the floor rise up inside her again. …how could someone do this to another person? She knew how loud she was being…

"But—" Surely if she'd listen, she'd…

"I'm sorry, Miss Wallace. The Empress doesn't wish to be disturbed at the moment. Important business…"

Vaguely, she heard the lady in question ask, "Where is the manicurist – my puppies aren't gonna wait all day for her."

Marlene's vision went white. Pure white. Rage. Rage – the all-powerful trump card. Sometimes it managed to enable people to lift cars, resist icy waters to get a hold of someone, ignore searing pain, or to fight a far more powerful foe. She felt the harsh little seed of it wrap its tendrils around her spine, sneaking up slowly from her abdomen to her chest and throat. Oh, if she was a good little girl, she'd keep it in check.

If she was a good little girl, she would just tell the guard quietly and hang up.

If she was a good little girl, she'd move on or go back to another person on the list to help her break the news to Yuffie.

If she was a good little girl, there wouldn't be this rage inside of her.

To hell with being a good little girl

"HE'S DEAD! DEAD!" she screamed as she hurled the phone across the counter, watching it bounce down and only avoid the floor by virtue of its cord. It bobbed, once, then twice, and then swung back and forth gently. She found herself sobbing, her sides heaving with effort and torrents raining down from her eyes.

She heard a scramble on the other end of the line, and a female voice pierced through. "I offer Wutai's condolences for your lost. Please call again at approximately 4:30 pm to give my secretary the details…" Marlene felt her heart lurching all over the place as the voice softened. "I'm sorry for being such a bitch. I really hate this job. It's really screwed up my humanity….I hate it. I'm sorry, Marlene."

The phone spun in the air some more as Marlene starred at it. So even all the power in the kingdom did not make for a happy person. For some reason, this revelation simply increased her own sorrow. Then her eyes fell to her list, and that was the straw that broke the camel's back.

Oh God. One more person on this list….one more mountain to climb. Marlene let her inner emotions win this time. She simply put her head down on the counter, pillowed by her arms, and cried. Cried hard. And this… this would be the hardest of all. Especially if he…Oh, what was he going to say?


	4. He Won't Forsake Me

For the first time in her life, Marlene was afraid of what Vincent Valentine was going to say to her. Or do when she told him. Or both. He hadn't scared her when he had explained what happened to him, or what had happened to Lucy, or what he had done in the past. No. His appearance hadn't scared her – it never scared her.

This did.

Had he forgotten her, too, when she hadn't answered his last letter? Had she just thrown him away? Would he turn around and just ignore her, as she had accidentally done? The one person who—

Her irritated eyes drifted over toward Barret's black book. There was a small notation in her father's meticulously neat handwriting next to Vincent's name. The last name on the list.

Valentine – phone's off. 7/16

– vamp's phone still off. 7/18

– I give up. Reeve says he's in deep cover. 8/5

….he didn't know. He didn't even know Daddy was ill.

Marlene's heart suddenly shot up toward the heavens. He…he would have come if he had known. He would have! He would have!

Now she pounded on the phone, crossing the fingers of her other hand, hoping that he had emerged from whatever special project Reeve had assigned him.

The phone rang once….

Twice…

Three times….

Marlene braced herself.

"Vincent Valentine speaking."

Always on the third ring. Like his polite little mental clockwork dictated, always answer the phone on the third ring.

Then his voice hit her. It had been so long since she'd heard it speaking directly to her rather than in tapes. Over six months. "He-hello, Vincent. It's Marlene."

There was a pause. In alarm, she looked at the phone – had she broken it when she had skipped it across the counter like a flat stone over water? "Hello, Marlene. Forgive me, I was cleaning my gun – I needed a moment to get the grease off my good hand." Having done that, Vincent sandwiched the phone between his face and his shoulder as his hands went back to tending his gun.

Marlene felt the smile come across her face in relief. "It-it's ok."

"How are you?" Vincent asked. It was a measured question on his part, with just enough inflection to indicate he knew something was going on – Marlene was rather old to suddenly develop a stuttering problem. While having a quasi-permanent poker face, it did not mean the man could not read others' emotions.

Marlene took a rough breath inward as she answered, "N-not very good."

"I can tell. What has happened?" He slid one of the gun's three barrels down the wall to the side of the bed. Vincent was perched on the edge of his bed in a hotel room, rain spitting on the windows. Minus a slight burn to his wrist, he was intact from the last mission. He looked outside, slightly concerned that the tiny machine's reception would give out in the weather.

Marlene shivered as the voice rumbled over the bass notes she remembered. There are certain tones in the scale that create shivers, jitters, or cause the hair's on one's neck to stand up. They vary person to person, up and down the scale. For Marlene, it was Vincent's midtone. Not the opening syllable to a word or sentence, not the closing. The middle. The untrained ear would say that he spoke in a monotone – Marlene knew better. "My father tried to reach you several months ago…in July."

"I apologize. I had been deployed for some high-profile reconnaissance on behalf of Reeve." Vincent's ears picked out her stumbling block easily – "my father." "Is Barret well?"

Marlene felt her face give way to it all again. Her eyes burned, her nose ran, her tears started to fall, her throat seemingly closed up. "He had an aneurysm. They couldn't get it out," she managed to choke out.

Vincent closed his eyes. First Elmyra. Now Barret. Marlene had seen far too much of the death that followed this group when she was all but four. It continued to dog her with the passing of her surrogate parents. "You say he tried to call me in July. He has passed today, then?" It was best to allow her to answer in monosyllabic terms.

"Yes," she bleated before her small body was hiccupping with sobs – small, little hitches of breath that drew out syllables beyond their normal use.

Vincent sighed over the phone. "I'm so sorry, Marlene. If I had known, I would have come to see the two of you, regardless of your father's objections. While there is a place for security –"

"I know you would have," Marlene broke in. "I know. I'm not mad at all."

"You're very understanding, as you always have been. Is there anything I can do?" Despite watching so many people die by or near his hand, he had never actually buried any of them, minus Elmyra. And Aerith, if her brisk watery interment counted. Vincent Valentine was at a loss as to what to do with a body other than to surreptitiously hide it or position it so its demise would not be obvious.

Marlene hastily flipped open her book. "We need another pallbearer – Daddy wanted you as one."

"Very well."

Marlene reached for a tissue and turned the phone away to blow. Sounding like she had allergies wouldn't do here. "Can you come?"

"To the funeral? Of course. In three days?"

"Yes." Marlene suddenly felt nervous. "Can you stay here?"

Vincent felt as if he had been asked a different question than what had come out of Marlene's mouth, for some reason. "I will need a place of lodging for my stay. If that is acceptable to you—"

"Yes, it is," she answered almost too quickly. "Vincent?"

"Yes?"

"I'm sorry for not answering your last letter, I—"

Vincent felt a small tug at his heart as Marlene sounded to be near tears. "It has been a rather tumultuous time for you – do not worry over it." A meek "mmmhmm" came over the line, a small relief to his ears. "I will expect a full report upon my arrival though."

"Of course, Vincent!" Marlene felt a verboten feeling within – something not suitable for a time like this…

Joy. And her father was lying dead in his bed. She was going to have to call the funeral home and tell them to carry him out, and prepare him for burial. Lay his head on the pillow in his coffin, and then close the lid once everyone had attended the wake. Then they'd hire the preacher to say some words over his remains before burying him, never to be seen by human eyes again.

Shame seared right through her. "Vincent, I miss my daddy," she managed blurt out before she started to sob into the phone. Not just hiccups as before. Gulps and gasps. "I'm never gonna see him again. He isn't gonna see me do anything anymore." A sudden thought struck her as though she had stumbled into traffic. "Who's going to give me away at my wedding?"

Vincent's insides clenched as he heard her start to wail. Not melodic or anything that some classic Greek text would infer about the weeping of women. This was guttural. This was primal grieving. This was aural agony – the sound of a person being ripped from the inside out.

He knew this firsthand.

"Who's going to tell my kids stories on his knee? Who-who's going to be so proud of me?" Marlene felt herself lean forward, one elbow propped up on the counter, its hand holding her forehead up from the clean kitchen surface, as the other's white knuckles wrapped themselves around the phone. Her grip only relented out of fear that the phone would break and she wouldn't be able to hear him anymore. Her stomach was going haywire again.

Vincent hated being an emotional idiot. Academically, only a few could match his prowess. Same went for physical ability. Emotionally – while he had improved by leaps and bounds over the years, he still felt he was deficient. "Marlene, I am not the best person to provide comfort, whether it is at short-range or not. Are the others coming soon?"

Marlene took a halting breath in. "Cid said he was on his way."

Vincent's interior monologue paused for a silent celebratory shout for joy. "I shall stay on the line then until he arrives. I'm sure I can tolerate you for that long." He allowed himself this snarky comment in the hope it would take her out of this weepy state, if only for a few moments before Cid and his small army arrived. Numerically, not an army, but decibel wise….

Marlene balked for a second and then burst into laughter. It had been many, many years ago when she had woken up to Vincent handing her off to Tifa, after having fallen asleep in his lap. "See, Vincent. She wasn't that bad to tolerate for a few hours."

"Rather, I am surprised that I wasn't that bad to tolerate for a few hours." Even with her eyes sealed tight with sleep, her barely wakened state allowed her to feel Tifa's emotions toward the man. A bit of sadness and that indeterminate "aww" feeling mixed with a bit of hope.

"You knew I was awake!"

"Acting is not your strong suit, Marlene." While it was said in a tone of admonishment, Marlene could tell, after many years, that Vincent was teasing her in his own, honest way.

"I'll always remember that, and the other little things too…even this."

"Given the circumstances, I do not think you will remember most of this conversation. Once Cid and his clan arrive, they'll probably put you to bed and tend to things for you…"

"Cid's really bossy when he's stressed….I need to find Daddy's old ashtrays."

"Wise."

"I've been so busy with the gallery…did I tell you about the gallery?"

"No, but there will be time later. Continue, however."

"…the house is a state…I should clean."

There was a sudden BANG as a door swung nearly off its hinges into wall. Marlene jumped and nearly dropped the precious phone. She whirled around to see Cid standing in the doorway, trying to strike as much of a heroic pose as his rapidly aging middle would allow. A few steps behind him similarly stood his son, who some members of AVALANCHE swore must have been a cloning side project of Shera. The resemblance, minus scruff and age, of father and son was uncanny.

"Fu—" Cid opened his mouth to say something. Then he looked behind him, noted the presence of Little Cid, then carefully move a few steps back to clamp his hands solidly over the ears of the boy. "Fuck if yer cleanin' the house. Sit your ass down and drink yer goddamn tea. Shera, get to work on the tea!" He released his son's head, who in turn looked up at his father quizzically. Cid tossed his head slightly back over his shoulder toward his wife, who seemed loaded for bear with cleaning supplies and food stuffed into already overfilled bags. "Yer mother would kill me if you heard half the crap that came outta my mouth."

Little Cid nodded knowingly as Shera bustled in, kissed Cid on the cheek, murmuring a "Good job, Captain" and then shoo'ed her son into the house. The boy, quickly assessing the situation, made a beeline for the television and to get out of the way of his parents and his cousin Marlene.

Marlene heard Vincent's "amused" grunt from over the lines. "I take it the Calvary has arrived, horses and all."

"I heard that, Valentine!" Cid strode over to Marlene and easily lifted the girl up in a bear hug. "Munchkin, you're getting too big for me. Still need to eat, dammit." He released Marlene and … "Dammit, you got tall too. Shit, making me feel like a midget." He noted the phone still in her hand. "Say bye bye to Vampy. You need to lie down."

"Told you," Vincent smirked.

"Ok, Vincent. I'll see you in a few days." Marlene suddenly felt exhausted. She hadn't done anything but cry, but that seemed to have wasted all of her energy.

"Very well, Marlene. If you need me in the interim, I'll leave my phone on." Vincent

"Thank you…for everything." She had to say goodbye to Vincent. She didn't want to hang up…

"Not a problem. I will be departing soon to arrive by the appointed time – what is that?"

"Dawn. Buried at dawn…"

Cid watched Marlene's face. Of all the people she wanted to cuddle up to, she had to pick…. "Say, 'Domo arigato' to Mr. Roboto over there again and get to bed, woman." He held out his hand expectantly.

"I'll talk to you soon, Vincent…"

"Sleep well, Marlene."

"'Night." She held the top end of the phone out to Cid, and he firmly took it, noting how slow she was to release the other half. Cid shot over Marlene's shoulder to Shera, who was stuffing the refrigerator. The bespectacled woman nodded and gentled took Marlene's hand and shoulder and led her toward the living room, forcing Little Cid back into the kitchen. Shera knew better than to take Marlene upstairs.

Cid watched the two of them walk off. "Poor kid," he said into the phone.

"Very."

"How the hell are you, Vincent?"

"Alive," he replied flippantly.

"Well, that's obvious…I think. Never was too sure about you." Cid reached up behind his ear and pulled out a cigarette.

"Don't light up or else Marlene will be trying to find the ashtrays."

"Dammit, you're psychic." Cid threw the cigarette down on the counter.

"Not as far as I'm aware…" Vincent reached into his gun kit and took out a tiny set of screw drivers. He then set to work on tweeking his gun's settings again. It hadn't been the same since he fell off that mountain…neither had his left wrist, but that was another story entirely.

"Ehh, that Hojo guy screwed around with you enough that you probably don't know half of what he did to you."

"This is true," Vincent answered breezily.

"Shut up, Valentine." Cid adjusted his goggles slightly on his head. "So…how do you think she's doing?"

"As well as can be expected. Barret is…still in bed, I believe." Vincent shifted the butt of the gun toward the light in the room as he turned the delicate gold screws.

"Yeah, I'm calling the funeral home once I get off the line with you." Cid leaned on the counter and looked in the general direction of the living room. "I can't believe how tall Marlene's gotten over the years. She's a freakin' Amazon." Cid peered down at the top of his son's head, who was playing some sort of pilot game on his handheld. Yep. No four lettered words were coming out of his mouth for a bit.

"I haven't seen her in ten years."

"Oh yeah, that clash of planning versus politeness – I remember. You still talked to the kid though, right?"

"Yes."

"God, she keeps you on the line for God knows how long and I can only get a few words out of you at a time. Je—Good grief." Little Cid looked up at his father, eyebrows raised slightly. Cid looked back at his son and stuck out his tongue.

"I take it Little Cid is currently underfoot?"

"Yeah. Kid's twelve now and Shera's still on eggshells about him turning out like me."

"Given his appearance –"

"What can I say, I got strong swimmers."

Vincent winced slightly. "And that's appropriate to say in front of him?"

"He thinks I'm talking about swimming lessons. Right, kid?"

Little Cid looked up at his father. He had learned just to smile and nod at his dad over the years. Saved him a lot of trouble with his mother. He nodded.

Cid returned to his previous question. "So what the hell were you talking to Marlene about the whole time?"

"This and that. Nothing important. Just something to keep her talking." Vincent carefully started reassembling the Cerberus.

"You talk to her, you don't talk to me. What was she doing, paying you by the minute?"

"Me?" Vincent gingerly twisted the third barrel into place and looked down the rifle to check the alignment.

"You got the voice for it."

Vincent's eyebrows shot up under his bandana. "I have the voice of a phone sex operator?"

"You said it, I didn't," Cid answered smugly. Score one for him.

"…How do you know what a male phone sex operator sounds like, Cid?" Vincent asked innocently.

It took a moment for register, but Cid soon realized he'd been had. "….Fuck you, Valentine."

"Cid!" Shera had just returned from putting Marlene to sleep on the couch. Hands on her hips, she glared at him, eyes darting between him and Little Cid, who was still seated, oblivious to everything.

"Shit!" was the automatic reaction to being caught, and he couldn't stop himself in time from reacting to his reaction. "Shit."

"CID!" The second Shera turned around to look for a potholder or a dishtowel to swat her husband with, Cid realized the phone call was over.

"Go to hell, Vincent, see you in three days," he growled.

"Meet you there," came the all too cheery answer.

"You got that right."

As the line went dead, Vincent went through his mental filing cabinet. Ah, there it was.

Vincent 1, Cid 0, for the day. Lifetime, Vincent 1,245, Cid 759.


	5. Obligatory Disclaimer and Author's Note

Howdy all. Another wee instalment in this universe of mine. Yes, there will be yet another prequel before we get back to the situation at hand with Vincent and Marlene. It will have a cute fan art from Silverknight accompanying it. At the moment, we're progressing backwards in time, but as I've mentioned, that will be resolved.

To note, none of these critters are mine, minus Little Cid and other kids mentioned.

Any rate, this was written on the request of my friend Jeff for the most part. He was like, "Why is Marlene so 'omg, Vinnie's zombie bitch' when her father's just died?" So I figured, with that critique, I had to address it. Hopefully that's now set up "You're Lost, Little Girl" much better. The shock segment immediately after Barret's death was written by listening to music that I hadn't touched in awhile because of the emotional pain it conjured up. I would like to think that came through well, otherwise I put myself through hell for nothing, hehe.

I'm also hoping that this will direct people to YLLG, being as I am really proud of that – this was simply written to support it.

As always, critique and questions (and reviews!) are always welcome.

Regards,

GS


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